


Sleepytime

by PrevalentPolyglot



Series: Little Peter [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Daddy Tony, Gen, Little Peter, NOT STARKER - Freeform, Non-Sexual Age Play, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, little peter parker, little!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrevalentPolyglot/pseuds/PrevalentPolyglot
Summary: It's Peter's bedtime. Before bedtime comes bath time, since Peter decided to help himself to some grape juice.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Little Peter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864099
Comments: 7
Kudos: 184





	Sleepytime

“Peter?” The call resonated throughout the walls of the tower. There was no response. “Pete? Bubba, where are you? FRIDAY, where’s Peter?”

“Young Peter is in the lab, Boss,” his AI responded. Tony frowned, speeding up. What was he doing in the lab? It was almost 7:30, which was when Peter was supposed to start getting ready for bed. He had just left his kid in the living room watching Star Wars while he darted to the lobby to get a package that had arrived, since Happy had had the day off.

It had been about a week since Peter had come to live at the tower full time, and the boys had gotten into a good routine. Peter hadn’t been back to school since the classification results were sent out since school went on winter vacation two days after. Peter had continued to fight his Little headspace the night that they had left the apartment and hadn’t fully embraced it until the third night when he had completely crashed from exhaustion. Tony had instituted a bedtime quickly after that, despite the teen’s repeated complaints. Since then, he had still needed to convince Peter to drop into his headspace, but he wasn’t met with quite as much resistance as he had been previously.

He set the package down on the kitchen counter and turned toward the stairwell that would lead down to the lab, zipping down as quickly as he was able. A minute later, he burst through the door to his lab to find Peter standing over his work table. The boy in question jumped at the noise and spun around, screwdriver in his left hand and juice box in his left. Tony raised an eyebrow — neither of those things should be in Peter’s hands right now.

“Pete, what are you doing?”

“I was gonna fix my suit,” he responded, looking shiftily at Tony. The Caregiver shook his head.

“It’s 7:30, bud. Time to get you off to bed.”

Peter’s jaw hardened. “No! I don’t wanna go to bed. I’m not a baby.” His voice was higher than usual, Tony noted, which he had started to realize usually meant a headspace drop wasn’t far away.

“Come on, Pete. We don’t want you to be overtired. Do you want to take a bath beforehand?” He walked over to Peter and held out his hand for the screwdriver, which he had decided was a worse thing for the kiddo to have than the juice box. Peter stomped his foot and clutched the screwdriver close to him while taking a sip from his juice box and staring defiantly at Tony.

“Nuh-uh! Wanna pway in da lab!”

 _Here we go_ , Tony thought. He walked up so he was directly in front of Peter and grabbed the screwdriver from the teen’s hand. Peter’s face immediately screwed up, he opened his mouth, and he started to bawl. Tony sighed and hoisted Peter up so that he was situated on Tony’s hip. “Shh, Petey, it’s okay,” he mumbled as he started to make his way back out of the lab and to the living area. “We can play in the lab tomorrow, okay?” They had almost arrived in Peter’s bedroom when Peter clenched his fist hard enough to cause the juice box to break and spray the remaining grape juice everywhere. Though mostly on Tony’s back. “Thanks, Pete.”

Peter continued to sob as they stepped first into his bedroom and made their way to the ensuite bathroom. “I don’ wan’ a baf, dada!” he complained, hitting Tony’s back with both fists. _Great_ , Tony thought, _more juice to soak into my shirt_. He could feel it starting to trickle down his shirt and onto his pants, too. On the bright side, Peter didn’t really use his spider-strength when he was Little.

“Fri, can you run a bath?” Without a response, the bathtub turned on and started to fill with water. Tony set Peter down on the floor, and the boy immediately threw what was left of the juice box across the room.

“Peter, we don’t throw things.”

Peter cried louder. Tony sighed.

“Alright, bubba, arms up.”

“No!”

Tony stared at him. “Pete, I need you to put your arms up so I can get your shirt off.”

“Nuh-uh!” came the petulant response.

“You can lift your arms or I can put you in the bath fully clothed.”

Peter was shocked into silence. He stared up at Tony with his arms crossed across his chest. Tony stared back. After a brief standoff, Peter raised his arms. Tony crouched down and took Peter’s shirt off.

“We gotta get your pants off too, Petey,” Tony said, lightly tickling his kid’s stomach. Despite his displeasure, Peter giggled in response. He struggled to get himself into a standing position, but was able to with Tony’s assistance. Tony quickly pulled Peter’s pants and boxers down and got them off despite Peter’s attempts to “help” (regardless of his sobs, he did love bath time, especially when his dada joined him), and promptly picked him up and deposited him in the tub.

“Bubbles!” Peter chirped, happily splashing his hands in the water. Tony grinned and grabbed the bottle of bubble bath mixture from counter behind him. He popped the cap and poured enough of the mixture in to generate nearly an excessive amount of bubbles (but bubbles always make his boy happy, so who cares?). Peter let out a peal of laughter as he splashed around and wriggled like a fish. “Dada, you too!” he ordered, making little grabby hands at Tony. Given that grape juice is truly one of the stickiest things to ever exist and that it was all over his back and lower body, he was inclined to acquiesce to this particular request.

“Okay, buddy. Hang on,” he replied, stretching to get his shirt off without getting the remnants of the grape juice in his hair. The second the shirt was over his eyes, he heard another giggle and was splashed by a wave of bubble-water. Tony sighed again. His boy was clearly in a playful mood, which he supposed was slightly better than a screaming mess. “Thanks, Pete,” he said as he stood up to undo his pants, which had also gotten soaked on top of being stickified by the grape juice. Peter laughed gleefully as the rest of Tony’s clothes landed on the floor and the man stepped into the bathtub to join his kid.

“Yay, dada!” Peter cheered as Tony sat down behind him. His dada smiled.

“Yay, Petey!” he responded. The inventor grabbed the bar of soap and started washing the body in front of him as the body in question was continually playing with the bubbles in front of him. He finished soaping Peter down and then grabbed the shampoo from the side of the bathtub. “Ready for shampoo, buddy?” he asked. Peter turned around as quickly as an uncoordinated child could.

“But you needa be cwean too, dada! I’nna soap you!”

Tony smiled at his kid’s eagerness. “Okay, Pete. Here’s the soap.” He handed Peter the soap and braced himself. Peter grabbed the sides of the bathtub and hauled himself forward so that he was basically in Tony’s lap. He then snatched the bar of soap from Tony’s hand and started rubbing it across Tony’s chest with no rhyme or reason. The Caregiver allowed himself to be subjected to this for a minute before he gently took the soap back from Peter and placed it in its dish. “Ready for the shampoo now, kid?” he asked, tousling Peter’s hair with one hand as the other found the bottle of shampoo. The kid nodded eagerly and stared up at Tony in adoration. Tony grinned and squeezed the shampoo bottle above Peter’s head, and then he put the shampoo bottle back as he started to massage the shampoo into Peter’s hair. The Little babbled nonsensically as he continued to play with bubbles until Tony decided he had been sufficiently shampooed. While Peter was distracted, he quickly washed and rinsed his own hair. “Fri, turn on the shower and drain the tub,” he ordered as he stood, not acknowledging his AI’s response. “Pete, up you get,” he said, glancing downwards at the soapy boy. The spider-boy tilted his head up at Tony and raised his arms, making the grabby motions again.

“Uppies!” he begged as the shower came to life. “I wan’ uppies!”

Tony shook his head. “After the shower, sweetheart, okay? It’s not safe in the shower, even for sticky spider-babies such as yourself.” Peter pouted and crossed his arms. “Stand up, bubba, and then we can do uppies.” Tony reached down with his hand and Peter unhappily stood. “Close your eyes so I can get the shampoo out of your hair, Pete,” Tony directed. Peter did as he was told, and the shampoo quickly cascaded off of his head and shoulders before it hit the draining water and swirled down the drain. Once both of them were sufficiently de-soaped and de-shampooed, Tony stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, drying himself quickly and putting the towel aside before grabbing another one for Peter — a “hoodie” towel that looked like a spider — and pulled the boy out of the bathtub and dried him off as well.

“Spidah towel!” Peter giggled, clapping his hands as Tony swaddled him in the cloth and picked him up. They walked into the bedroom and Tony put Peter on the floor by the toy cars that were scattered about in a corner of the room.

“Stay here for just a moment, Pete, okay? I need to get something from the kitchen,” he said, watching Peter play with a firetruck. The boy only made a “vroom-vroom” noise in response, which Tony took as agreement and left the room. He walked over to his bedroom first to put on a pair of boxers and a shirt, and then headed over to the kitchen. He grabbed the package he had picked up earlier and opened it, shaking out a pack of diapers, a pack of pull-ups, an Iron Man plushie, and assorted Avengers-themed pacifiers. For some completely unknown reason, there were absolutely zero diapers, pull-ups, or pacifiers anywhere near him and it took an entire week for some to arrive, billionaire funds be damned. As a result, he has had to change Peter’s sheets every single morning over the past several days and was very much hoping that tomorrow morning would be a nice break from the routine (not to mention that Peter was often big enough when he woke up to feel ashamed about wetting the bed). He quickly took everything out of its packaging and gathered it all up into his arms, and then went back to Peter’s bedroom.

Peter had wriggled out of the towel in his absence and was happily sitting naked on the floor playing with his cars. He looked up when Tony came back in and clapped excitedly. “Pwesents?” he asked hopefully. Tony smiled.

“Yep!” He tossed the Iron Man plushie toward Peter, who immediately dropped his car and picked up the plushie.

“Is you, dada!” Peter shouted, smiling widely and clutching it close to his chest. Tony chuckled as he turned toward the bureau to put everything else away, though he kept a diaper and a pacifier out (both Iron Man themed, sue him) for the night.

“Alright, bubba, we gotta get you ready for bed, okay?” Tony said, turning back toward his kid.

“Do I hafta, dada?” Peter asked sadly, looking up at Tony. “I don’ wanna.”

Tony nodded. “You don’t want to be overtired tomorrow, Petey. Remember our plan?”

Peter frowned in concentration before remembering. “Da zoo!” He practically screamed the words out of excitement, and Tony grimaced from the noise before smiling again.

“Yes indeed!” he responded, walking over to Peter. “But if we’re going to the zoo, you have to go to bed now.”

Peter hung his head in sadness before struggling to get up. “Okay, dada…”

Tony clapped his hands. “Alrighty, Petey. Your diapers came also, so we’re going to put you in one before bed so that Dada doesn’t have to change the bed in the morning.”

Peter frowned at that. “But… I’nna big boy. See?” He spread his arms as far as they could go to illustrate how big he was. Tony sighed for the umpteenth time that night.

“Remember when you wake up in the morning and your sheets feel all cold and icky?” the Caregiver asked his Little. Peter nodded. “If you wear a diaper to bed, that won’t happen.” Peter pouted, but nodded. “Good boy, Pete. C’mere.” Tony lifted Peter up onto the changing table that he had had installed earlier in the week and slid the diaper underneath. Then he froze. He had no idea what to do next. “Fri, how do I put on a diaper?”

“You started well, Boss. Take the front of the diaper and bring it up. Then wrap the sides around so that they adhere to the front.”

“Thanks, Fri,” he said, seeing now how to correctly put it on. He did as she had instructed, tickling Peter’s stomach along the way. His heart swelled at the sound of the giggles Peter let out and at seeing the unadulterated love and adoration in his eyes. Once he finished diapering Peter, he set him back on the floor and walked to the closet. “What do you want to wear tonight, kiddo?” he asked. Peter scrunched his face in concentration.

“Pamda!” he decided on, clapping his hands in excitement. Tony smiled and turned toward the closet, grabbing the panda onesie from where it was hanging. There had been no shortage of fun pajamas for him to order. Peter clambered up from his sitting position and waddled toward Tony, the Iron Man plushie clutched in his hand and eyes fixed on the onesie. Tony had gotten very good at maneuvering his kid’s wiggly body and had him zipped up in the onesie in under two minutes, which he was fairly proud of himself for.

“Ready for your bedtime story, bud?” he asked, leading Peter over to the chair specifically for bedtime stories.

“Stowy, dada!” Peter cheered, albeit with marginally less enthusiasm and slightly more yawn than before. Tony smiled and retrieved one of the fairytales from the bookshelf to his side.

“Once upon a time…”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not a parent. Apologies for whatever sounds ridiculous. I'm sure there's something. Let me know what you think! Comments bring me joy.


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